


hoping everything's not lost

by owlvsdove



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time May's phone rings, she ignores it. </p><p>[SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 FINALE.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	hoping everything's not lost

 

The first time May's phone rings, she ignores it. Phil's separation anxiety, she assumes. She doesn't mention that part to Andrew, just declines the call with deliberation and a look in his direction, which he appreciates.

The second call comes two minutes later. Skye. She hesitates, but she declines.

The third is a text, from Skye again:

_SOS_

And the fourth is from Lance:

_911_

And the fifth is Skye calling once more.

Andrew turns the car around.

 

 

 

They burst back onto the base but no one is there to greet them, dark empty halls echoing with their haste.

The lockbox for alien tech is in the basement, at the heart of the base, so it takes a long stretch of gun-drawn terror to find her way to them. And they don’t even notice when she enters; so with Andrew trailing behind she walks up behind them, overlooking Fitz’s tablet that is looping security footage.

A mass of black swallows Jemma whole.

 

 

 

And again.

And again.

 

 

 

The room is airless, sweating and silent like a nightmare.

“How did this happen?” May murmurs, and they finally look up to see her stricken face.

“The case,” Fitz mutters, hoarse from something May doesn’t want to think about. “It was faulty. I pushed it open by accident. She must’ve gone to close it, but…”

He doesn’t have to finish. Everyone has the picture right in front of them.

“What do we do?” Skye asks, voice breaking.

 

 

 

No one speaks.

It’s an unbreathable thought, but they’re all having it at once: _maybe she’s just gone._

This is Jemma’s second brush with alien threats. Maybe it was a delayed reaction. Momentum deferred. Fate. Maybe it’s finally taken her.

But in their line of work, death is not quiet. It is senseless, yes, and it happens in a flash. But it doesn’t happen alone, in a room, seconds after you sent your partner to find a place for dinner.

 

 

 

“No,” Fitz barks. He drops square down on the floor in front of the case and stares it down.

“Fitz, you can’t just wait here,” Coulson says quietly.

“She’s not gone.”

“Fitz—”

“No!” he shouts.

“I’m not leaving either,” Skye says, voice choked and swollen. She moves to sit next to Fitz but Mack grabs her arm first.

“Skye, don’t do this.”

She tries to rip herself away, shrieking. “I’m _not_ losing someone else! I won’t!”

It feels like the room suddenly remembers what Skye has lost. Her mother, her father. Now her best friend.

Mack lets her go.

Lance is resolute, going to sit with the two children on the floor, staring up at the monolith in defiance. Bobbi’s in her wheelchair, still by the door, looking ready to heave. Powerless.

Coulson looks to May, questioning. He’s not sure how to handle this; but then again, no one would be. Well, except for Jemma, maybe.

“She’s not gone,” May repeats, teeth gritted.

Skye and Fitz look thankful.

 

 

 

Phil watches the floor for a long moment. “It still doesn’t do us any good to sit here and wait. We need to devote as much time and effort as possible into figuring out what this thing is and how to—”

Suddenly the power dims and surges, lights flickering twice distinctly. The monolith swells violently against its cage along with it.

They all freeze.

The lights dim again, two long strokes, before they rise up, and again the black mass contracts against the glass before returning to its impassive state.

Then again: three short dims.

“It’s Morse code,” Bobbi breathes, wheeling herself up to the table frantically to record the dots and dashes.

The agents on the floor scramble up to her.

_I M S_

_I M S T_

“Is it Jemma or is it the object?” Skye asks, eyes cutting between the monolith and the paper.

_I M S T I L_

“It has to be her,” Fitz breathes. “It has to be her. It has to be her. It—”

_I M S T I L L H_

“I think I might be sick,” Mack mutters from behind his fist.

_I M S T I L L H E R E_

“Jemma,” May breathes.

Fitz moves away from them to press his nose to the case. Glass separating them once more.

“She’s still here,” Skye breaks, crumbling inward in relief. If she’s still in there somewhere, then—

Skye looks at May and waits. They can save her.

May nods, recharged. _They can save her_. 

 


End file.
